In His Stead
by Argenteus Draco
Summary: Strange dreams, and maybe more, lead Faramir on the journey of a lifetime. Taking on the challenge that would have been his brother's doom, he finds the road back to Gondor is far longer than ever expected.


Title - In His Stead Rating - PG13 for implied sexual content. Summary - "You wish now that I had gone in his stead..." Strange dreams, and maybe more, lead Faramir on the journey of a lifetime. Taking on the challenge that would have been his brother's doom, he finds the road back to Gondor is far longer than ever expected, and will lead to new found friendships, lost loves, and a deep longing to return home. Shipping - Boromir/OC, Faramir/OC, canon relationships. Disclaimer - Characters, animals, and situations mentioned henceforth are property of JRR Tolkien and/or New Line Cinemas, with the exception of Dúmírom and Dúil. Merkanárë WildFlame created by SunsetOfAGypsy, as well as Neninhoth. No money is being made from this writing.  
  
In His Stead  
By Argenteus Draco  
  
Faramir sat quietly, his eyes on the table in front of him. He could feel his father's cold stare as he waited for a response. Slowly, he lifted his eyes.  
"You wish now that I had gone in his stead."  
"I do. Your brother would not have failed me."  
Faramir swallowed hard. "Then since you are robbed of Boromir, I will do what I can in his stead. But if I should return, think better of me, Father."  
"That would depend on the manner of your return."  
Faramir bowed, and turned quickly, so his father would not see the tears start to fill his eyes. But he wouldn't cry. Not now, when so many people looked to him for hope.  
Things started happening very fast after that: his horse was saddled; his armor readied; a helm placed upon his head, blocking the edges of his vision. There was noise, horse hooves clicking on the stonework, and people whispering. And one voice he recognized. Mithrandir.  
"Your father loves you, Faramir. He will remember it before the end."  
Faramir pretended not to hear.  
The gates were behind him. And in the distance, but coming ever closer, was the enemy. Before they'd even reached the walls of Osgiliath, things erupted around him. Men screamed, falling off of rearing horses. Arrows flew from both sides, and the clash of swords echoed around his head. Faramir fought with all his strength, all his will, everything he had.  
There was a sharp pain in his shoulder, he felt himself fall to the ground beside his men.  
Everything went black.  
  
Faramir woke, covered in sweat; his sheets were soaked. Pulling the coverings off him, he rose from the bed, feeling the cool air against his chest. He shivered slightly, and reached for a clean shirt that was hanging over a chair. Feeling better, Faramir walked to the window, looking out over the city that slept below him.  
This wasn't the first strange dream he'd had recently. But when he'd told his father about the last dream, Denethor had scorned it, calling Faramir crazy. Not that Faramir had expected his father to listen, but he'd thought, hoped, that Boromir would hear him out. But his older brother had dismissed the matter also, telling Faramir that a dream couldn't hurt you.  
Faramir rubbed his shoulder. But I felt this, he thought. This felt real.  
Thinking about it, everything in the dream had been too real. The floor had felt solid beneath his feet, and he could smell the blood of Orcs and Men, sense their fear. And the look his father had given him, he'd felt that too.  
Faramir shivered again, though not from the cold this time.  
Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly the way Boromir had taught him, Faramir began reviewing the details in his head, thinking of possible meanings each word may have contained.  
"Your father loves you, Faramir. He will remember it before the end."  
Faramir pushed that back in his mind. He didn't want to think about it.  
"Your brother would not have failed me."  
No, Boromir would not have failed. Boromir would have won the day, and brought honor and glory to the City. That was nothing strange or new to Faramir.  
"Since you are robbed of Boromir, I will do what I can in his stead."  
Now that didn't make sense .why he would say something like that to his father, who would only further scorn him, comparing him to his noble brother. And Faramir knew he would never measure up against the deeds Boromir had done.  
Too many puzzle pieces. Not that they didn't make sense, just that they didn't make sense together. He had to be missing something.  
"Since you are robbed of Boromir."  
Faramir felt his breath catch in his chest. That was it; the final puzzle piece, the riddle of why he'd had the dream. It was a warning; a chance to stop what had inevitably been meant.  
A chance to stop his brother's death.  
Unbidden, an irrelevant thought nagged at the back of his mind. He wished the other dream had been as easy to figure out. Seek for the sword that was broken, In Imladris it dwells.  
Struck by sudden inspiration, Faramir pulled an over-tunic on, and the quilted leather jacket he wore as an archer. A few more minutes were spent gathering together the rest of the few things he would need on a long journey; some dried fruits and salted meats, a fur lined cloak, a light blanket that would double as a pad for under his saddle, his weaponry and armor, and a few coins. All this went into his saddlebags, which he threw over his shoulder. With that, Faramir left.  
Moonlight lit the empty corridors as he moved silently down toward the stables. How many times had he made this trip as a child, wandering through each restless night, more often than not with Boromir close by?  
Boromir.  
Faramir paused outside the door that lead to his older brother's rooms. Could he really leave in the night like this, without even saying goodbye?  
Slowly, Faramir pushed the door open. Boromir was still asleep, and curled on the bed next to him, her dark hair splayed across his pale chest, was Dúmírom. Faramir felt a lump form in his throat. He could wake his brother; he'd be able to deal with the arguments Boromir would give him. But Dúmírom. she wouldn't argue with him, but she'd look at him with those big, dark eyes, like she was ready to cry, and Faramir would only want to cry himself. Gods, it wasn't fair that he still loved her so much.  
Trying to make as little noise as possible, Faramir placed his bags down again, and walked quietly to the small desk in the corner. Pulling a scrap of parchment, a quill, and an inkbottle toward him, Faramir scribbled a note, thinking to leave it for Boromir to get in the morning.  
Folding up the parchment, Faramir placed it on the edge of the desk, and paused. Boromir had done the same thing when he'd first been called to fight for Gondor; he'd been 17 at the time, Faramir had been 12. When Boromir returned two months later, he'd found his younger brother angry with him for the first time he could ever remember, all over the letter he'd left, in place of saying goodbye.  
Remembering how he'd felt after finding the note - betrayed, left behind - Faramir suddenly didn't feel he could leave it. Blinking rapidly to stop the tears that were starting to form in his eyes, Faramir tucked the note into his pocket, picked up his bags, and left.  
He tried not to think as he made his way down to the stables, moving as quietly as he ever had. This was due mainly to the knowledge that if he were caught, he'd be in more trouble than he cared to imagine, but also partly to the fact that silent footsteps had been instilled in him as a Ranger.  
Stepping out onto the streets, feeling the cool night air on his face, Faramir was able to breath a little easier. The rest of the city was silent; Faramir thought he heard footsteps following him once, but the sound soon disappeared. I really am loosing it, Faramir thought to himself, shaking his head.  
A few minutes later found Faramir in the stables, stepping around the straw and mud on the dirt floor. A black mare stuck her head over the stall door when he entered; her name was Dúil, Nightstar, named for the white stripe running down her nose. She was the daughter of Neninhoth, the stallion that Faramir had ridden from age four until the summer he'd been called into the field and his faithful mount of 14 years had been killed. It had been hard to say goodbye to his old friend, and for a while, Faramir had refused to ride any other horse. Then when Ëaranar had foaled in the spring, Denethor, in a rare moment of compassion toward his youngest son, had presented Faramir with the mare. He'd spent three years training her, a fine horse he would ride when he was home in Minas Tirith, or visiting his uncle and cousin at Dol Amroth. Faramir had sworn when Neninhoth had been shot down that he would never again take his personal mount to war.  
"Feeling ready for a bit of a journey, pretty one?" Faramir asked, walking over to the stall. Dúil nuzzled his shoulder in reply, and Faramir slid back the bolt holding the wooden door shut. Pulling her tack, saddle and reigns off the wall, Faramir set about preparing Dúil for the journey ahead. He was just tying his bags to the back of the saddle when a voice spoke from the shadows.  
"Where are you going, Faramir?"  
Startled, Faramir turned around. It was Dúmírom, wearing one of Boromir's old cloaks over a light nightdress. He sighed, turning back to his work. "I didn't mean to wake you. I'm sorry."  
"You're avoiding my question, Faramir. Where are you going? And why leave at this hour of the night?"  
"To Rivendell," he answered, without looking up. "And I've waited too long already. I have to go."  
"I don't understand, Faramir."  
"'Seek for the sword that was broken, In Imladris it dwells.'" Faramir quoted, having memorized the rhyme from the hours he'd spent pouring over old lore in the library, looking for something, anything, that would give him a clue as to what it meant. He bent down to check the already tight girth to avoid having to look at Dúmírom. "I've been having other dreams like it, recently. I know they mean something, and if I'm going to figure this one out, that's where I have to start."  
"Faramir, they're dreams, nothing more. Why are you doing this?"  
"Because in the last dream I had, Boromir was dead." Faramir regretted the words as soon as he'd said them; when he looked up, Dúmírom's eyes were shining with unspilled tears. "I'm not going to let that happen, Dúmírom. I think I'm needed in whatever this dream is pointing to."  
"You're needed here too, Faramir."  
He turned around again, checking everything over one last time. "No one needs me."  
"I need you." Faramir turned around, startled by her response.  
"Dúmírom." He was lost for words.  
"Boromir may be my lover, Faramir, but you're my friend. You've been there for as long as I can remember. You're the one I've always been able to talk to about anything. I don't know what I'd do if you left."  
There was a long silence before Faramir was able to get an understandable sentence out. "You seem to manage fine when I am in Ithilien or Osgiliath."  
"Only because I can tell myself you'll come back. But Faramir. the journey to Rivendell could take months. And I just can't convince myself you're safe for that long. Not without seeing it."  
In that moment, Faramir wanted nothing more than to take Dúmírom in his arms and comfort her, kiss her, convince her he'd be okay. But he knew it would only bring about conflict; she was in love with Boromir, and he with her, and nothing Faramir said or did would change that. Instead, he walked forward, and took both her hands in his. "I've never wished anything for you but happiness, Dúmírom. I know you're happy when you're with Boromir. I wouldn't have my leaving change that. But I promise you I'll come back."  
"Faramir-"  
"This is something I have to do." Slowly, he took his hands away. A single tear slid down her cheek; Faramir couldn't know it was the look of desperate sadness on his own face that made her cry. He lifted a hand to wipe away the tear, but stopped with his hand in midair, and turned around again. Taking Dúil's reigns, he led her out of the stall, and mounted.  
"You're really leaving, then?"  
Faramir nodded to give himself a few extra seconds, afraid his voice would break. "Yes, I am." He squeezed Dúil's sides lightly with his knees to get her to walk. But before he'd even reached the stable doors, he stopped her, and dismounted again, walking back towards Dúmírom.  
He pulled the note he'd written earlier out of his pocket. "Give this to Boromir. And tell him I'm sorry for leaving like this."  
Before Dúmírom could respond, Faramir turned, and swung back up into his saddle. He kicked Dúil into a trot and disappeared into the night.  
  
Dúmírom watched her friend's form become a speck in the distance from her perch on the wall. When Faramir was no longer in sight, she slid down, and started making her way back toward the White Tower.  
When she pushed open the door of Boromir's room, she found him awake, sitting up on the bed, staring out the window. He didn't turn around when she entered.  
"I'm sorry I left like that," she said, laying the cloak over the chair she'd found it on. "Did I wake you?"  
"No," he said, his voice heavy. "It was a dream I had." He turned around, and Dúmírom saw his green eyes were full of pain. "Faramir's gone, hasn't he?"  
Dúmírom didn't ask how he knew; she'd known he and Faramir had always shared a special bond, stronger than those normally found between brothers. "He did. He told me to give you this." She held out the note, and Boromir took it without a word. When he'd finished reading it, there were tears in his eyes. It was a strange contrast to the strength and determination Dúmírom was used to seeing in Boromir. But when he spoke, his voice was clear and sure.  
"He had to go. But he'll come back, Dúmírom. I know he'll come back."  
Dúmírom sat down beside him, and took his hand. "I know," she said. They lapsed into silence for a while after that, and Boromir went back to staring out the window.  
"Boromir, what were you dreaming about?"  
He turned around and looked at her, and his eyes were glowing with their usual confidant light again as he quoted from the dream. "'Seek for the sword that was broken, In Imladris it dwells.'" 


End file.
